Wasted Days and Wasted NightsBy C. Nicole TinsleyMy friend Myra and I dressed up like hoochies, flirting with the guys at a tacostand. It was eleven on a warm Friday night in Whittier, California. The guys knew Myraand had seen us around on the weekends, so they were hooking us up with some grande burritos for free. We stood around waiting for our food by the graffiti-splashed brick wall.I was looking at the tattered red and yellow umbrella that hung over the single table whileMyra was complaining about how much her feet hurt. A carload of guys cruised by. Inoticed that there were four young, handsome gangbanger-types kicking back in the 1964Impala. The shiny Satin Silver paint gleamed under the streetlights. They glanced over atus and one of them recognized Myra.He leaned out the window and shouted, “Hey, aren’t you Playboy’s chick?” Shetossed her long silky black hair in the general direction of the silver-gray Impala, and shekept talking to me. “What’s your name, huh?” The short bald one in the front persisted,“It’s Myra, ain’t it?”At the mention of her name, she pivoted on her six-inch heel and flashed adazzling grin at them. They called us over to their lowrider and were asking questionsabout when her boyfriend (and daughter’s father) Playboy was getting out. I stood therewith her, in the middle of the street. One of the cute guys in the back was whispering tome, telling me I was pretty. I was looking into his dark eyes, wondering how a man’seyelashes could get so long, when a police cruiser in stealth mode appeared behind thecar and chirped the siren. The guys took off, but the cop pulled up to the curb by the side

of the taco stand. He got out of the car and asked us what we were doing in the street. Heeyed our clothes.I was wearing a short, strapless black dress that clung in all the right places. Myhigh heels had ankle straps and made my legs look really long and lean. I glanced over atMyra. She had on a white tube top, stretched to capacity over her large fake breasts, and atight white miniskirt with the top folded down to make it even shorter. Her belly buttonwas pierced with a silver ring accented by a white stone that shone against her tan skin.The gang tattoos she had snaked up her leg to the thigh, but part of the clown’s face wasmissing because she was having it lasered off in sections and had to wait for it to heal before getting the others removed. My stomach dropped as I realized the cop wasthinking we were hookers! I pulled out my college i.d. when the cop asked for my licenseand I explained that I had to be back in class on Monday and could not go to jail. Heignored me and threw me against his black-and-white.“What law did we break?” I asked in desperation.“Shut up and don’t say anything,” Myra urged me.“I’m a citizen of the United States and I know my rights! I demand to know thecharges! You can’t do this to us. We have the right to due process! You didn’t read me myrights! Are you listening to me?!” Myra shook her head in defeat and the cop rolled hiseyes. He threw me in the back of the cruiser.“Hey, you’re trying to look up my skirt, you pervert! You will regret this! Youdon’t know who you’re messing with!!!” Myra hung her head. It was going to be a longnight.